


Wayward Sons Come Home

by evelynIttor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Communes, Cult AU, Cults, Gen, Imprisonment, Mild torture, Not A Happy Ending, Supernatural Gen Big Bang, brain washing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 08:39:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2541341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evelynIttor/pseuds/evelynIttor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Against all odds, Sam got out. He left the Hunter's Retreat Compound and his family behind to attend Stanford and make a life that wasn't dictated by studies in ancient religions and working on the community farm. But according to FBI Special Agent Hendrickson, things have changed and they need him to get inside and figure out where the new weapons stockpiles are being kept. There's someone on the inside who wants out, too, and Sam hopes it's Dean. . .Even if that's just a wish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wayward Sons Come Home

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by the amazing [October Ashes](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/487876/) and with AWESOME [artwork](http://siennavie.livejournal.com/54458.html) by  
> [siennavie](http://siennavie.livejournal.com/). Go give the artist some love, it's all amazing.

_Long Day_

Sam was running late. His Greek Civilization professor had gone fifteen minutes over and it had thrown off his entire afternoon schedule. He missed his usual cup of coffee, got caught in the late afternoon rush, and the video he'd requested at the school library wasn't returned until an hour after he wanted to start watching it. By the time he headed back to the apartment he shared with Jess, he was exhausted, hungry, and late.

He was so tired, he didn't notice the differences. Sam didn't notice the black vans parked on the street, he didn't notice the men with ear pieces loitering in the lobby of the building. And he sure didn't notice that the windows were closed and the air conditioning was on when he stomped into the apartment and collapsed on the couch.

"Hey Jess!" Sam called into the apartment. He didn't smell anything cooking, and it was her night to make dinner. "Jess?" He called again. _Maybe she went out?_

Jess came into the living, her face was red and her eyes were puffy. "Sam. . . look, you should hear this, okay? Just hear them out." She came into the living room and a black man in an expensive suit followed her in.

"Samuel Winchester?" He asked.

Sam got to his feet and crossed his arms over his chest. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Agent Victor Hendrickson with the FBI." He produced a badge. Sam took it from him and studied it. He'd seen his fair share of badges, and this one was authentic looking. It could have been a really good fake, it was official enough that Sam gave it back to the agent and sat down on the couch.

"What do you want?"

The Agent grinned at him and sat next to him on the couch. "Sam, you grew up in the Hunter's Retreat compound, right? You left four years ago?"

Sam nodded. "Yep, came to Stanford. It's actually been three years and eight months since I left."

"Fine, fine." Agent Hendrickson grinned again, showing off his white teeth. "Are you still in contact with any of your family? Or anyone else at the compound, for that matter?"

"Not really." Sam shrugged, "I haven't heard from anyone in the last two years."

"Ah." The Agent took a manila folder off of Sam's coffee table, it wasn't Jess' Chemistry notes after all. The Agent produced several photographs, a couple of satellite images, and two Polaroids of smiling men. "Two years ago, a new group movement into the Sioux Falls compound. They were a southern group originally based out of Grimsby run by these two brothers." Hendrickson pointed out two men at the certain of one of photos. They had their arms slung over each other's shoulders and stared out, smiling, yet still managing to look creepy and off putting.

"This was a splinter group, they called themselves the Warriors of Heaven." Hendrickson put two of the satellite images next to each other. "They built a wall around the compound and we believe they are stockpiling illegal weaponry and preventing people from leaving. All of the women have left and built a separate camp. It's our opinion that this new group, Wayward Sons, are preparing for a war."

Sam looked at the images. He could see the tiny cottage where he'd lived with his brother and father. It was still there but the little garden in the back was gone, replaced with some kind of animal pen. There were new buildings, different trees and paths. A lot had changed in four years.

"What do you want from me?" Sam asked. "I haven't been there in years. I don't know anything about this new group."

"We want you to go home." Agent Hendrickson stated as he leaned back on the couch.

"No!" Jess shouted. "You didn't say that before! Sam can't go back! It's crazy he got out the first time. Besides, they aren't going to just let him back in."

Sam shrugged. "I can call and ask around. But why? Why'd you wait two years if things have been going wrong since the Warriors?"

"Glad you asked." Hendrickson handed him a photocopy of something. . .a letter. It repeated the same short message in several different languages, _Prisoner, Trapped, Send Help, Can't Get Out_. "We have someone on the inside, if we can get them out, we can get enough evidence for a raid or even seize the compound's land."

"Do you know who sent this?" Sam looked at the handwriting and tried to remember what his brother's scrawl looked like.

"We were hoping you might know." Hendrickson took the letter back. "Will you give it a shot?"

"Can't hurt to try." Sam told him, but he didn't return the Agent's smile. He wasn't looking forward to this. It really could hurt to try. He might return and never be able to leave again.  
\--  
 _Phone Call_

"Okay, Sam. You'll talk into this mic, here." The technician tapped the mic on Sam's headset. "You'll hear the other end of the call through your headphones. Everything will be recorded and we'll be able to hear the conversation, but you and whoever else is on the line won't be able to hear us."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I got it."

"Great stuff." He got a clap on the shoulder and the tech left him alone in the little booth in the back of the truck.

Sam punched in the number for the office phone. Apparently it was the only one still connected. All of the cell phones registered to the compound had been disconnected when the new group had arrived. The phone rang in his headphones and Sam tried to remember what he wanted to say to his brother.

"Yes?"

It wasn't a voice Sam recognized. All crisp and professional. "Um, hello. I- I'd like to talk to my brother."

"Who?"

"Dean Winchester." Sam crossed his fingers under the table. He could hear his breath coming faster, even though the headphones.

"And who is calling?"

"Sam Winchester. I'm his brother." Sam winced at the desperation in his tone, he didn't need to hear that Dean was okay. He wasn't worried. He kept thinking those lies over in his head as the other end of the line was silent.

"Hmm. One moment." Sam heard the click on the other side. There wasn't any hold music, but Agent Hendrickson gave him a thumbs up through the window.

"Sammy?"

"Dean." Sam grabbed the table and held it hard. His fingers were quivering. "Hey Dean."

"Is something wrong?" Dean sounded out of breath, as if he'd come running to get the phone. "Do you need something?"

"I want to come home." It was easier to lie than Sam had been expecting. When he heard Dean's voice again, it all came rushing back. Nearly two decades of running through the fields, playing on old rusted up cars, and being with his brother. He hadn't realised how much he missed his brother.

"Sammy." Dean's voice came through thick and Sam remembered the way Dean's eyes got shiny and heavy with tears that never spilled over. "Gimme a minute."

There was a another click and Sam was left listening to dead air again. It didn't last as long this time and the phone clicked again.

"You're coming home." Dean said and Sam could hear his smile this time. "Just come to the gate. Sammy, I'm so glad you're coming home. I think about you every day. Sam, you're not going to hell, you belong here. With me and Dad and the rest of the family. Things have changed here. I think you'll like it-"

Sam could hear another voice in the background, the crisp professional one that had answered the phone.

"I gotta go. Can't wait to see you!" The phone clicked again, this time for good.

The tech came in and unhooked the headset. Agent Hendrickson followed him in and sat across the table from Sam. "Are you sure you can handle this?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I'm ready to go home. I need to talk to my professors. Explain I'll be gone. And I need some of the stuff from my apartment."

Agent Hendrickson nodded in agreement. "The FBI has made arrangements for your grades to be taken from your current marks. We've got a bus ticket for you. Can you be ready to leave by 6?"

"Bus?"

"We don't know what kind of surveillance or outside operatives the leaders have. We're not taking any risks."

"Yeah, I can be ready." Sam got up and his legs shook a little. "Can someone give me a ride back to my apartment?"  
\--  
 _Welcome Home_

Sam hiked his backpack higher up and tried not to think about its contents. Sure it had some of his clothes and a cell phone, but in little tiny secret pockets there were bugs and secret transmitters. He didn't have to do anything, the seams of his clothes were wired and he just had to act as he normally would and walk around.

The bus ride had been long and uncomfortable. His legs had been jammed up and he hadn't had much to do for the trip. There was no point. Even when he'd left, the rules to bring things in and out of the compound had been strict. They didn't need outside books and foreign ideas corrupting their willing slaves. Sam couldn't believe he'd agreed to return.

He saw the fence long before he got to the gate. It had changed from a rundown grey picket to eight feet of concrete with barbed wire lining the top and video cameras placed every few hundred metres. Sam felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, he was being watched. He walked along the dirt path, dust kicking up under his feet.

As he got closer to the main area of the compound, where there were buildings, not fields, on the other side of the fence, something seemed off. When Sam had left, the compound had bustled with life. Ellen Harvelle used to sing as she worked, cooking in the dining hall and the children screamed and laughed as they played outside. It was quiet now, not even the usual sounds of conversation or work made it over the fence.

The gate was an impressive feature. There were guard booths on either side and the chicken wire was covered with blackout cloth. Sam stopped in front of the first guard booth with a tinted glass window. He knocked on it, then stepped back to wait for someone to answer.

The little window slid open and Sam recognized the face on the other side. "Bobby!"

"Heya Sam. I heard you were coming home." Bobby's face crinkled into a smile and Sam couldn't help but smile back.

He'd looked up people when he'd left for Stanford. The compound had been full of ex-cons and fugitives, something he'd never realised. It was hard to imagine Bobby, the man who all but raised him, killing his wife in a drunken anger and serving seven years in prison. He was Bobby!

"Can I come in?" Sam asked when the man made no move to unlock the gate or direct him around.

"Uh-" Bobby looked over his shoulder. "I gotta check Sam. Can't be too careful these days."

Sam nodded. Even before he'd left, the old leaders had been obsessed with protection. The world was going to collapse and they had to be ready. Strangers represented an ever present and looming danger. When the banks failed and the electricity, died they'd have to protect themselves. But Bobby had always had special rules. He owned the land the compound was on; a couple dozen acres his father had left to him. When Sam had left, the older man had been allowed to do whatever he wanted.

The window slid shut and Sam leaned against the wall to wait.

Things had changed. The window slid open after a few minutes and a dark haired man studied him without speaking, his blue eyes cold.

"Sam Winchester?" The man asked.

"Yeah, that's me."

"Identification please."

Sam had to take off his bag and fiddle with the zipper to find his wallet. He pulled out his California Driver's License and his student card, and passed both of them through the window. The man studied them, holding them up to the light and running his fingers over them, feeling the features and the watermarks.

The window slid shut again and Sam was left to wait in silence. He couldn't leave without his identification, and he still hoped they'd still let him in. The metal of the gate clanged loudly and the entrance slowly inched open, just wide enough for him to squeeze through.

"I'll take that." The dark haired man took Sam's bag. He was shorter than Sam was, without the guard booth to boost him up. He was wearing some sort of body armour, a bulletproof vest looking thing. The whole getup is vaguely military, not the jeans and flannel shirts that were de rigueur four years ago.

Sam followed the man down a paved path with wire fences on either side. They had to show identification at each gate before they were allowed through.

"Inside." Sam was ushered into one of the small whitewashed cottages. It'd been years, but this one might have belonged to Pastor Jim once upon a time. The small room is almost empty now, just a plain table and two chairs.

Sam sat in one of the chairs and the man emptied his backpack onto the table. He stuck his hand into every pocket and ran his fingers along every seam. Sam's heart pounded. If any of the surveillance equipment was found, there was no way he was getting out, not with all of the new gates and the guards. He saw flashes of a gun sometimes, tucked inside a chest holster under his escort's vest.

By some miracle, not that he believed, his things passed inspection. The guard divided them into two piles and Sam's heart fell as he realised he was going to lose most of what he brought in with him. Even his clothes are important, they had the wires in them and they wouldn't do the FBI or him much good if they got locked up somewhere or burned.

When the guard stepped away from the table and looked down at him, Sam swallowed his nerves and found his voice.

"You're new here, right? I just. . .I don't recognize you."

The guard didn't speak and Sam regretted his words as the silence filled the room.

"I have come here recently. My name is Castiel." The guard motioned for Sam to stand. "I need you to remove your clothes."

Sam's discomfort must have been obvious on his face because Castiel coloured.

"We have to be certain to protect ourselves. Any manner of weapons and recording devices can be hidden in clothes and on the body. Very few people find the strength to see through the lies and return to the fold."

Sam stared at the floor for the next twenty minutes. Castiel took his clothes and performed the same rigorous search on them before turning to Sam. Castiel's fingers were cool and they roamed over every inch of Sam's body, feeling for microphones or wires or weapons hidden on him.

"You can dress." Castiel finally said and he didn't turn his back as Sam pulled his clothes on.

"Can I see Dean?" Sam asked once he was clothed again.

Castiel shook his head. "I will take you to a place to spend the night. Everyone is very busy today. You can meet with your family tomorrow, if it is permitted."

Sam sighed quietly, but he took the belongings he was allowed and followed Castiel out of the cottage and further down the path to yet another of the small buildings. When he'd left, every cottage had been full. Each one had a family living in it, and Sam knew the women had left, but with the Warriors of Heaven coming, surely they'd all been filed again?

"Lunch is over. Someone will bring you food when we eat our evening meal." Castiel told him after unlocking the door. "Go inside."

Sam stepped into the cottage and listened as the door was locked behind him. This cottage too had been stripped of all personal touches and most of the furnishings. It could have belonged to anyone. There was a bed with mattress and a single sheet, with a chair next to it. The light in the ceiling was missing the bulb and the window had the curtain and rod removed.

He piled his stuff on the chair and sat on the bed. The bed was too short for him to stretch out on, but after spending hours on the bus and walking to the compound, sort of stretched out and at least laying down, was enough. As soon as his eyes closed, he was dead to the world.

When Sam woke up, it was obvious someone had been in the room. His belongings had been put into a burlap sack and there was a tray of food on the chair next to the bed, along with a pitcher of water. He splashed some of the water on his face and smoothed his hair back before digging into the food.

Ellen Harvelle was clearly not in the kitchen anymore. There wasn't much food on the tray and Sam ate it quickly, swallowing down the bland, overcooked vegetables. He thought back to the bacon salads, thick stews, and fresh bread Ellen used to make. There was bread on the tray, but it was hard and dark, maybe a few days past the expiration date.

By the time he was finished eating, the room was nearly dark. He couldn't find any light source beyond the window and just the last vestiges of the setting sun had illuminated his dinner. Sam took off his boots and changed into sweatpants. He pulled back the sheet and climbed into the bed. He didn't fall asleep as quickly this time, his brain wanted to ponder the new situation and his stomach wasn't as full as it wanted to be.

\--  
 _New Boss_

Sam woke up to the sound of knocking. He got out of bed and pulled his flannel shirt on over his t-shirt. It had gotten cold in the little cottage. No light was coming in through the window and he couldn't tell how much time had passed.

"Hello?" Sam called out. There was no lock on this side of the door. He couldn't open the door.

The lock slid back and the door opened. Two men came in, both intimidating in posture and dress. They weren't as tall as he was, but the first man was heavily armed and the second was heavy with muscle, obvious even under his clothing. They stood next to each other, shoulder to shoulder and Sam recognized them from the photo Agent Hendrickson had shown him. They were the new leaders of the Wayward Sons, both had long criminal records and a taste for violence.

The first man, the one with all the weapons, had blond hair and dead blue eyes. He smiled and opened his arms. "Sam, we are please you have returned to our family."

Sam nodded, but he didn't step into the embrace. He didn't move from his position.

"Why have you returned?" The second brother asked.

Sam slouched. He had prepared an answer to this question, but it was a lie and he had to make them believe it. . .he had to try and believe it himself.

"I was wrong." He admitted to them. "There is nothing outside these walls I need. I need my family. I couldn't not bear to be without them. I felt the loss of my brothers and sisters every day, and it was too much to bear for all eternity."

The brothers were silent and Sam watched as they shared a look. Then the blond brother embraced him.

"You have returned to us. Everything else is in the past."

Sam returned the hug and his skin crawled where he was touched.

"We must protect our family." The brother whispered in his ear. "You have been gone for so long, Sam. Are you still one of us?"

Sam nodded.

"You still love and obey?" The grip around him tightened and Sam nodded again. "Say it, Sam. Say yes. Say yes for me."

"Yes." Sam whispered. "Yes, I want to be here. I love and obey our Father. I was so wrong to leave."

The man stilled and when he pulled away, he was smiling. "We'll have to get you some clothes and find you a place to live."

"I'm sure my brother Dean has a place for me-" Sam started.

"Things have changed." The blond brother said lightly. "All will be made clear. I will show you."

They opened the door and Sam followed them out of the cottage. The sun was just starting to rise, the window was on the wrong side of the building to get any light in the morning. The blond man stayed with him and the other one left, heading towards the gates where Sam had come in.

"I seem to have forgotten my manners." The man offered his hand. "I'm Lucifer, I know the name's not the best." He laughed at his own joke. "I honour my parents anytime someone speaks it."

Sam nodded. At least honouring your parents hadn't changed.

Lucifer led him through another gate, but the guards didn't stop them and demand identification. Just opened it and let them pass through.

"This is the main area." Lucifer gestured around. "I'll give you the grand tour."

There were a lot of new buildings and everything had a new purpose. The little cottages people used to live in had been turned into supply closets or prayer rooms. One of them had the showers and another was just to store cleaning supplies. Two of the cottages Lucifer glossed over and Sam wondered if that was where the weapons were being kept.

"This is bunk house one. You'll be staying here." Lucifer opened the door to a long squat building. It smelled like sweat and dirt and Sam thought wishfully of the little Winchester cottage he used to live in and the clean apartment he'd shared with Jess.

The bunk house was a long room with rows of beds on either side. There were toilets in individual little rooms at the end, next to another entrance. Sam was directed to one of the neatly made beds. There was a wooden crate at the end of it and he put his things in there, before following Lucifer out back to the courtyard.

"Bunkhouse two." Lucifer pointed to the second long building. "You'll never need to go in there."

Sam wanted to ask, but he knew better than that. He nodded and followed Lucifer to the cookhouse with its long tables and stacks of dishes. It was empty now, no Ellen baking bread or preparing food for the next meal.

"And here's the heart of it all."

The church hadn't changed. It was still the same whitewashed building with a cross nailed to the front. There were more symbols inside, a Star of David, a bunch of stuff for religions Sam had never practiced and all of Bobby's knickknacks. The new management hadn't taken anything down, hadn't even painted over the runes and sigils on the walls. There were new markings, all done in the same red. The paint still looked like dried blood.

There was a fire going in the brazier at the front of the church and a pile of wood beside it. Sam looked at Lucifer and when he got a nod, he walked up the rows of backless benches to the front. He took a plain white candle from the bins and lit it, then knelt on the roughly hewn wood floor.

Sam closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. He used to start and end every day sitting in front of a candle, thinking about all the different gods and goddesses in the world and how he played into their plans. In the last few years, right up until he left, Sam had spent most of the prayer time thinking about what would happen to him if he left. If there really was Hell and if all the religions of the world could be true. He'd stopped believing everything his father said and it was a short path from there to doubt the Hunter's Council and the rest of the adults.

\--  
 _Brothers and Sisters_

When Lucifer roused Sam from his thoughts and took him outside, the morning had passed and people were gathering outside the cookhouse. There was smoke coming from the chimney now Sam's stomach growled as they got closer.

The crowd was different. They were quiet and respectful, moving out of the way so Lucifer could pass through them. There weren't any children, Sam remembered at least a dozen rambunctious kids before he'd left, he spotted a teenager who might have been one, but the rest were gone. The women were gone, he'd known that, but there were no families left. There were new faces too, people wearing uniforms and carrying weapons.

Lucifer opened the door to the cookhouse and brought Sam up to the table closest to the kitchen with him. "You'll sit here." He gestured and Sam stood behind the bench, taking his cues from the rest of the people filing in.

When the door closed, Lucifer and his co-leader stood in front of the benches and held hands. There was no one else at Sam's table, so he clenched his hands into fists and closed his eyes.

"Lords and Ladies in the Heavens, we ask you to bless. . ." It was the same blessing Sam had heard thousands of times. In the beginning at Stanford, he'd sometimes started to say it without thinking.

"We have some special announcements today." Lucifer said when the prayer was finished and Sam had opened his eyes. "I will be going into town tomorrow on a resupply mission. The list of people coming with me has been posted on the church message board. Brother Bobby is going to lead a prayer group tonight, in honour of the full moon. Most importantly, our brother Sam has returned to us."

Sam didn't turn around, but he could feel the eyes turn towards him. He stood still and listened to the quiet whispers.

"Brother Dean and brother John, please join us for this meal." Lucifer and the other man returned to the table and when they sat, the rest of the cookhouse scrapped their benches back and followed suit. The cooks came out of the kitchen with platters of food and Sam waited.

"Sam, this is Father Michael." Lucifer introduced the man sitting next to him. "He is in charge of day to day life within the compound."

Sam nodded. "Pleased to meet you sir." He'd met the man earlier, but apparently that was not going to be acknowledged.

"Fathers." That was a voice Sam knew. He turned around and before he knew it, he was pulled into his brother, his actual biological brother's, embrace. "Sammy." Dean whispered into his ear and Sam could feel Dean's chest heave as he breathed against him.

"Hi Dean." Sam said, pulling away when Dean's grip lessened. "Dad." He said to the man standing behind his brother. His father looked older, there was more grey in his hair and the lines in his face were deeper.

"Ah Sam-" Sam turned back to look at Lucifer and Father Michael, "Father Michael and I are your fathers. We guide you and care for you. This is your brother John."

Sam nodded and sank back onto the bench. He didn't want to hug his father and he was certain the man didn't want to hug him either. All of the father crap kind of creeped him out.

They didn't talk much for the rest of the meal. Sam worried Lucifer or Michael might pick up on his true purpose for being there and he didn't want to pick a fight with his father. That was going to come soon enough. He could feel the anger brewing under John Winchester's skin.

Michael left and John followed after him once the meal was over. Sam stood and stuffed his hands deep into his pockets. He really didn't know what to say or do. Duties had changed in the compound and he doubted he was trusted enough to go off and return to the work he'd done before he'd left.

"Sam." Lucifer motioned and both Winchester brothers followed him out to the courtyard. A guard trailed along behind them. Sam didn't recognize him, but the gun strapped to his thigh didn't leave his position to the imagination.

"Yes sir?" Sam asked, focusing on the leader. He could look around later, when watchful eyes weren't watching him.

"I think we'll try and find you a placement tomorrow. We can always use more people in the fields. Spend today with your brother. I'll see you again at the evening meal." Lucifer left them standing there and by the time he left the courtyard, there was another guard trailing after him.

Sam stared at Dean and Dean stared back at him. The sun was still high in the sky and lunch hadn't satisfied Sam after missing meals the day before.

"So." Sam crossed his arms.

"I'm glad you're home." Dean said.

"Yeah."

"Things are better now." Dean smiled.

Sam nodded, even though things didn't seem better. They'd never needed armed guards before and kicking out all the women and children didn't seem like the kind of inclusive behaviour they'd practiced before.

"You'll like it now." And Sam wondered if Dean was trying convince himself everything was okay.

Most of the compound was locked up. Dean showed him the garage and the mechanical shed. Almost all of the cars and trucks Sam remembered had been sold, at least the Impala he'd lived the first few years of his life in was still tucked under its tarp.

"What have you been up to?" Sam asked, as he leaned against the wall of the garage. "Get your mechanic's certificate?" That's what Dean's plan had been when he'd left.

Dean shrugged. "Nah, I'm working in the soybean fields. Makes a decent amount of cash. Church?"

Sam nodded, he really wasn't getting much out of his brother. "Yeah."

There were two other people in the church now and the guard followed them in, staying at the entrance. Dean lit a candle and knelt at the front. Sam's knees were already protesting, but he lit his own candle and lowered himself to the ground again. Sam closed his eyes and listened to Dean's quiet chanting. He couldn't make out the words, but it was probably the Lord's Prayer or one of the many songs they'd learned over the years.

Sam was disappointed. He'd hoped, foolishly, to return to a happy, energetic family. Dean was quieter now, sullen and his plans had gone down the drain. Sam understood, to a point, that Dean couldn't always make his own decisions, sometimes things had to be done for the good of the community.

Dean didn't say anything for the rest of the afternoon. Sam kept nearly drifting off and had to pinch himself to stay awake. His knees ached and his calves went numb, but Dean didn't slump or slouch and he kept up the same quiet almost singing until the speakers announced the evening meal.

\--  
 _First Night_

The showers were cold and communal. Sam shivered in front of shower head and changed into another set of clothes, he stood out among the rest of the members. There was a cold wind blowing on his walk to the bunkhouse and the crowd of people around him huddled together and rubbed their arms for warmth.

The walls of the bunkhouse didn't do much to stop the cold. Sam climbed into his bed, scratchy sheets and thin pillow. He could still hear the wind whistling through the wooden slates of the building. Around him, noises of people slowly faded to be replaced with the snores and sniffles of the sleeping. Sam couldn't sleep. He couldn't get comfortable, between the cold and the too short bed, he missed his warm girlfriend and the warm blankets on his big bed back in California.

They'd taken his watch, so Sam waited until all of the rustling and noises had faded away. He slowly inched up in bed, pulling the blankets along with him. There was a big fleece sweater in his things and it added a layer of warmth he was going to need. His flashlight was gone too, but Sam avoided looking at the light in front of the bathroom and let his eyes try to adjust to the darkness.

The floor creaked under Sam's boots. The boards weren't sealed properly and Sam could feel air rushing up through the cracks and breezing up his pant legs. He tiptoed across the floor, trying to be light on his feet, but it didn't matter. No one stirred or so much as shifted in bed when he walked past them.

There were no windows and Sam hoped the door to the bunkhouse wasn't locked. He used to have trust and faith in the community and their care for each other, even if it was expressed in less than healthy ways. That had all changed; the openly carried weapons, the whole vein of fear which ran through nearly all of the people he'd met. He needed to talk to Bobby. Tomorrow, he'd learned a lot from the man and it was difficult to rectify the second father he knew with the bloody murderer he'd read about in microfiche.

He opened the door to the bunkhouse slowly, it wasn't locked after all. The hinges squeaked and Sam froze. He held his breath and glanced back over his shoulder, thankfully it didn't seem to have disturbed anyone. He counted himself lucky and squeezed out through the small opening he'd already created.

The wind was harsh outside, without the walls of the building to block it. Bright light was provided by tall street lamps placed around the courtyard and the buildings. Sam blinked in the sudden change of light and pulled the door closed before sneaking around the edge of the bunkhouse. He needed to get out of the light.

Sam started with the first building. The door was locked, but he twisted the knob hard and it broke off in his hand. The hinges were well oiled at least and Sam closed his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

The former cottage had supplies in it. Bags of flour, sugar, oats, and grains sat in plastic bins. There were mouse droppings, but none of the rodents appeared. Sam opened all the bags and stuck his arm in, feeling for weapons or drugs, he didn't know where they'd hide those things.

There were cartons of insecticide, pesticide, and rat poison and Sam didn't really believe it was all for the farm. Why would it be kept in a food supply shed? At the very least, it should have been kept away from the food, unless there were plans to mix it in.

Sam couldn't do anything about the broken lock or the way the knob hung oddly from the door. He walked quickly to the next cottage and this time the door opened without any resistance.

It was light inside this cottage and Sam realised his mistake as soon as he opened the door. Four men were sitting at a roughly hewn wooden table with a radio on it. All of them were heavily armed and the walkie-talkies were squawking before he could turn around and pretend that none of this had ever happened.

"Sam?" It was Dean who grabbed him and spun him around. His brother was shorter than he was now, but he was stronger and Sam stood still as those heavy hands clamped down on his shoulders.

"So this isn't the bathroom?" Sam asked weakly, not really expecting them to buy it.

The guard Castiel cocked his head and stared at Sam. "The bathrooms are located in the bunkhouses."

"He knows where the bathroom is. I showed him myself." Dean released Sam for another guard to hold while the fourth went behind and handcuffed Sam's hands behind his back.

Dean took off his walkie-talkie. "Fathers, there's a problem in the guard shed."

Sam was shoved down into a chair and his ankles were cuffed to the legs of it. The chair was low to the ground and the position forced his knees up near his chest. He hoped the FBI was getting everything through the wires in his clothes. That this was going to be worth something to them. He wished there was some way for him to know what was going on, for them to tell him what they needed. If they were going to get him out.

The guards had a hushed conversation in the corner of the room. Dean kept glancing back at Sam. Sam tried to communicate with his brother, the looks and glances they'd used to use to have an entire conversation. Nothing seemed to be going through this time.

"We'll be right back." The two guards Sam didn't know declared and they left, their holsters open and hands on their weapons.

"How could you?" Dean asked and he set a chair in front of Sam and sat down, burying his head in his hands. "I trusted you. Everyone trusted you."

Castiel patted him down. Sam lost his boots and his belt but the guard left him the rest.

"When did you accept Satan into your life?" Dean demanded, grabbing Sam's chin and forcing the younger brother to meet his eyes. "You were good and strong. How did you lose sight of everything?"

"It's not like that." Sam tugged at the ropes Castiel was fastening around him. "C'mon Dean, you know that it's not like that. We used to joke about it. It can't all be real. There's no devil waiting outside the gate."

"We were wrong!" Dean exploded in his brother's face. "We were wrong all along, can't you see that? Father Lucifer and Father Michael, Sam, they saved us. We were wrong and we were going to Hell. They showed us how to live and how to save ourselves."

Sam shook his head. "You know better than this! You're my brother. Try and think about this. Lucifer and Michael aren't good. They're bad news! Just look at their names! Honestly Dean, who names their kid Lucifer?"

"God spoke to them." Dean said, his voice changed as he slipped into storytelling mode. He'd always been better than Sam at remembering and telling the tales they'd learned from Bobby. "God told them families were drifting and to bring them together, the heavenly family first had to be made whole."

Sam couldn't help it, his jaw dropped. They'd honoured gods and goddesses before, but it wasn't like that. It was concepts of divinity and hope, he'd never expected a god to talk to anyone.

"That's enough." Castiel said and he stepped between them. "Dean, you should check the bunkhouses. Make sure no one else is out of bed."

Dean growled something, but he followed the order, letting in a rush of chilly air when he opened the door.

"Stop." Castiel said, but he didn't explain. He retreated to the door, closing it and rotating from staring at Sam to keeping watch outside the door.

"Castiel?" Sam asked, hoping he could get the guard to admit to more fault, to implicate himself in crimes. This trip had to be worth it. He was never coming back, no matter what the FBI promised him.

"Shh." The guard ordered and he opened the door. The cold air rushed in first and Sam shivered as he looked up into the icy blue eyes of Father Lucifer.

It was different now. In the darkness, with the light from the lantern glowing over the face of the leader, his blue eyes and blond hair were sinister, not handsome. His face was hard and Sam shivered again, not from the cold this time. Somehow it felt like the man's gaze was going to stab holes in his head and pin him to the wall.

"Sam, Sam, Sam."

Castiel brought a chair and Lucifer perched on the edge of it. He pushed it against the table and balanced there, like a bird, or the angel he'd taken his name from.

"Do you know what God commands us to do to those who betray us, Sam?" Lucifer's voice was casual, as if he was telling everyone at dinner what time the night's events were at.

Bible passages, ancient tales of vengeance, and graphic woodcuts of punishments flashed through Sam's head. He'd read books and been told stories in the dead of night and in the Hunter's Retreats small schoolhouse. Bobby liked to rage about punishment and sin and hell on Earth. Lucifer could have been referring to many many different punishments or so-called "laws" from forgotten passages of the good book.

"You do not deserve to live. You have sinned against us, and you have sinned against God."

Sam shook his head. "It doesn't work like that. Everyone has sinned. All of us have sinned and fallen from God. You're one to talk. You call yourself 'Lucifer'!"

Lucifer smiled. "You think you know your scripture, Sam? Lucifer was the most loyal of God's children. His father loved him above all others."

Sam wanted to say something. He wanted to snap and ask Lucifer if he just craved his daddy's approval. If someone had touched him in a bad place as a child and now he got his rocks off torturing people who just wanted to be left alone with people they cared about.

"Castiel, take him to the white cottage. This will be dealt with in the morning. Only immoral souls are still awake at this time of night. I need to return to bed."

Castiel half bowed and showed the leader out, then releasing the ropes and re-cuffing Sam's hands behind his back. His feet were bound with a rope with just enough slack for him to take a half step without falling over. "Walk." Castiel ordered, then he shepherded Sam out of the whitewashed cottage and down the path away from camp.

Sam kept his eyes open as they walked past white cottage after white cottage. He didn't know what Lucifer meant by 'the white cottage'. All of the buildings were white, and they'd never had a place to hold people in the past. Not like the empty building they'd isolated him in when he'd first arrived.

The compound still sprawled, even though everyone had been relocated to the bunkhouses and all of the women had left. The cottages were empty, dirty from disuse, and they all really needed another coat of whitewash. Sam had used to do that. The children spent the mornings painting the lower halves of the buildings. Sometimes they got to use the ladders to reach the upper parts. Sam liked the painting, he hadn't realised it was child labour and that the paint was probably giving him cancer until he'd gotten out.

There were fewer buildings now and some of them were unfinished. Cottages without windows, buildings that only had three walls and the fourth was just a few two-by-fours, all waiting for the people to return and finish them. At the end of the dirt path, sat a short squat building. It didn't have the wooden platform the rest of them did to keep them off the damp earth, and it's walls were washed and the light on the porch was on and shining brightly into the darkness.

Sam tripped when Castiel stopped and the rope around his ankles got tighter. He watched as the guard crossed himself and whispered something under his breath before he approached the building and hauled Sam along behind him.

They didn't have to knock on the door. It opened for them and Sam shivered. He didn't know this man, just something in him set his skin crawling.

"Took your sweet time." The man said and his lips twitched up into a smile for a second. "I'll take him now." He added when Castiel moved to step into the cottage.

The rope was handed off. Sam tried to see into the darkness of the cottage as he was passed between the two guards like a prisoner.

"I will return tomorrow. I'm on duty in the morning." Castiel looked at Sam when he spoke, then turned back to the man. "Our fathers are going to speak with him tomorrow."

The man frowned and shrugged. "All right then." He clamped his hand around Sam's neck and hauled him into the cottage. It was dark in here, especially after the bright light from the porch bulb. Candles flickered on a table and Sam blinked hard until his eyes adjusted to the oppressing darkness.

This wasn't a cottage design he'd seen before. It was much smaller on the inside and the walls were covered with a greyish cloth coating. There were bars over the single window and more bars on the other side of the room, but Sam couldn't see what was beyond them. There was nothing but milky darkness that swallowed everything. The man hauled Sam across the room and there must have been a key, Sam heard the click of metal on metal. The bars opened and this time, Sam tripped.

The man just let him fall, crashing down a set of stairs with his hands and feet bound. Sam heard something crack and he rolled down the last few steps, only to land face first on a dirt floor at the bottom of the flight of stairs.

"Ha." The rope tightened and Sam carefully got to his feet. His entire body ached and he was covered in dirt from his trip down. "You deserved that."

Sam had to hurry, half tripping with each step to keep up with the man. It wasn't as dark down in this basement, but there were more bars. Bare light bulbs hung from the ceiling and illuminated stacks of boxes locked behind double sets of bars. When they rounded a corner, and the basement was a lot larger than the ground floor, Sam couldn't believe his eyes.

The small rooms behind the bars weren't just holding cardboard boxes, and the entire hallway smelled like human excrement and disease.

"Ash?" Sam asked, finding his voice as he stumbled past the first cell.

"Sam?" Ash retreated away from the bars until Sam couldn't see him anymore.

"All yours." The man stopped and unlocked one of the cells, then pushed Sam in.

Sam hesitated, standing in the centre of the tiny cell. He turned around and tugged at the cuffs on his wrists. "Can you undo these?"

The man just laughed. "Naw. I don't really feel like it." He banged on the bars in front of Ash's cell and the one next to Sam. "See you soon, lovelies."

The prisoners were silent as his footsteps faded down the hallway and Sam was bursting with questions.

"Ash?"

"Sam? Did they get you too?"

Sam pressed up against the cold wet bars to crane his neck to see into Ash's cell. "What? No, I came back. Are they kidnapping now?"

"I was gone for two weeks." Ash mumbled. "They found me at a homeless shelter during recruiting."

"That sucks, man. When did you get out? Did they just leave you down here?"

"About a week after the new guys arrived. Every last one of them was a dick and no one really seemed to get that." Ash banged on the bars. "I've been down here since then."

"Seriously?" Sam asked before realising that he had never had any reason not to trust Ash. This whole mess was screwing with his head. "That was years ago!"

"Nearly three, by my reckoning." Ash said and his voice was quieter. "It doesn't really get warmer or colder down here and there's never any sunlight. I kinda just guess when I think the days change."

"Is it just you?" Sam asked and he reached his hand through the bars to point across the hallway. "Are we alone in here?"

"There have been a couple others. Some of them are new." Ash's hand pointed out through the bars. "Ava used to be across from me, but they took her and Max is in there now."

"Max Miller?" Sam asked. The Millers had come to the Hunter's Retreat, they had fled from one of the uncles who beat on the wife and son, but they'd been quiet and kept to themselves. Max had never hung out with the other kids and he spent most of his time working with his parents in the gardens rather than in the school with the rest of them.

"Yeah. He doesn't talk much. Andy used to be in your cell. I don't know what happened to him either."

"I'm sorry, really sorry, Ash. I'm trying to fix this. It might take a while, but I'm going to get you out of here." Sam wanted to say more, to tell him the FBI were listening in, but it wasn't safe.

Ash kept him engaged in conversation for what Sam guessed to be the rest of the night. His old friend had plenty of stories of the new arrivals to the Retreat, and of how quickly everything went to hell. People were kicked out of the camp or forced out of their cottages and into the bunkhouses. The school was shut down and the jobs people had created for themselves ended, while everyone was put to work in the fields.

The conversation petered out eventually, and Sam leaned against the wall, too scared to fall asleep. There was a pile of blankets in one corner of the cell, but they were filthy and he wasn't cold enough to risk lice and fleas to wrap up in them. Sam had managed to slip into a half-dozing state by the time he was startled into wakefulness by footsteps in the hall.

"The fathers want to see you." The captor sneered at him and Sam got to his feet. His legs were cramped from the cold ground and his arms were one massive pain. The handcuffs had stopped cutting into his wrists a long time ago, but he couldn't feel his hands at all anymore.

He shuffled slowly along the hall, trying to peer into the various areas behind the bars. There weren't any bodies that he could see and that was something of a relief. The stairs were steep and narrow, difficult to climb even for the unbound man behind him judging from his huffs and puffs.

"Don't move." The man warned him and he tied Sam into a chair before tilting his face up to the light. He poked at Sam's face and hot pain flashed through Sam's nose. "Broken." The man announced and Sam cringed away as the fingers moved into his line of sight again.

Sam was steeling himself to be tortured when the front door opened and Castiel, the guard who hadn't hurt him yet, came in.

"Azazel." Castiel said and the man backed off. Sam could feel hot blood dripping down his face again, but there was nothing he could do about it.

"Relax brother, I didn't touch him." But even as he spoke, Azazel stepped away from Sam.

"Remove the cuffs, I'll take him from here."

Azazel grumbled something, but a moment later, Sam was inching his arms back in front of his body, his shoulders loudly protesting the movement. His hands were bright red and swollen, and there were bloody bruised lines around his wrists where the cuffs had been.

Castiel looked pointedly at the ropes that still encircled Sam's body and Azazel removed them too. He muttered something about jumped up bottom feeders and his fingers pinched hard into Sam's flesh as he pulled the ropes free. Sam stood up and stretched, his body wanted to curl in on itself and nap for a good long while, but Castiel was heading to the door and Sam reluctantly followed after him.

"There are people in there." Sam said once the door had closed behind them.

"I know." Castiel answered. He stopped walking down the path and turned back. Sam met his gaze and shivered, the guard had the same blue eyes as Lord Lucifer, only his weren't as piercing, dead, and cold.

"Is Lord Lucifer your brother?" Sam asked and Castiel started walking back towards the prison cottage.

"He is my Father." Castiel opened his holster and drew his gun. "But we were born of the same flesh. Bend down, the cameras can still see you."

Sam pulled his aching limbs in as tightly as he could and stayed low to the ground as he followed Castiel past the white cottage and across the swath of grass beyond it. The tree line was sparse at first, but they walked into denser and denser patches of woodland. Sam's eyes fixed on Castiel's drawn gun. Had he just been taken out here to be shot?

"Just stay quiet." Castiel said, his voice lower than a whisper. "They will notice soon, if they haven't already."

Those didn't sound like the words of someone about to shoot him. Sam kept his head down and tried to get his breathing under control. Fear and adrenaline were racing through his body and he was breathing harder now than he usually did on his morning runs.

"Shh." Castiel warned. "They'll search the grounds. I need to listen."

They didn't stay still for long. Castiel looked intently into the distance, not that there was anything besides trees to be seen, and Sam almost expected the guard to press his ear to the ground like some sort of Lord of the Rings fanatic. Sam followed when he was motioned to move. The trees and brushes rustled around him as he shuffled through the forest.

The sun was up by the time the trees had thinned out enough for the light to get through. Old dead leaves cracked under Sam's feet and Castiel kept shooting looks back at him whenever he made noise.

"Close enough." Castiel had to grab him, Sam was exhausted, cold, and his feet hurt. He would have liked to just keep walking along until they could stop for good. All of this starting and stopping made the trek so much worse.

"The fence is close by. It will be watched."

Sam hugged himself with his arms. It didn't really help him stay warm, but he could try. "Where are we going?"

"Away." Castiel answered and he reached above his head to grab a tree branch. When he jumped, Sam knocked into him as hard as he could and brought the guard to the ground, pinning him until the gun was several feet away from both of them.

"Is this all part of the trick? Make me think I'm getting away and then show me how it can never happen?"

Castiel shook his head minutely, he couldn't move it very much, Sam had him pinned tightly. "It was time to leave. I couldn't stand it and there wasn't anything I could do for the rest of the prisoners. At least you had a chance."

Sam relented his hold and sat up. He offered his hand to Castiel and tugged the guard into a sitting position on the cold wet ground next beside him. "I don't trust you."

"You can always go back to the camp." Castiel offered. "Now, pick up the gun before the moisture seeps into it. I still might need it."

"I'll be holding the gun." Sam lifted it off the ground and looked over it quickly and carefully, the way his father had taught him.

Castiel shrugged. "I know better than you who to shoot, but I won't fight with the only person holding a gun." He pointed to the thinning trees ahead of them, "We need to leave before these fields fill for morning work."

Sam kept the gun drawn and at the ready. He walked quietly now, picking his feet up and thinking about where he placed them. They were large enough and still crunched leaves underfoot, but it was slightly better and he kept his senses on the alert for other guards or for Castiel to turn on him.

The forest ended abruptly. There were crops planted in the field that followed, in between the tree stumps where the firewood had been harvested from. A good few hundred metres away, the high fence topped with barbed wire and a security camera broke the idyllic view of farm life.

"Be ready to run." Castiel warned. He undid his bullet proof vest. "I'll go over the fence first and we'll use this to protect ourselves from the barbed wire."

Sam nodded. "You go first, I'll cover you."

The guard took a deep breath and set off running. The security camera didn't instantly turn to follow him and no other guards appeared, Sam started off behind him, picking his way through the tree stumps and swinging the gun from side to side in case someone appeared to hinder their escape.

"C'mon on! Boost me up!" Castiel had his fingers entwined in the metal links of the fence and Sam pushed hard on his butt, giving him the extra boost he needed to get to the top. "Watch the wire!" Castiel yelled as he jumped down on the free side of the fence.

Sam had to jump to get high enough up. The bullet proof vest didn't do much to stop the barbed wire and the protection it did offer only covered a very small area. Sam hissed as he jumped to freedom and his shirt ripped, the skin underneath it suffering the same fate.

"Gotta go!" Castiel pulled at his sleeve and they set off down the road at a breakneck pace.

It wasn't until they were about to round a steep bend that Sam realised he no longer had the gun. And when seven men in military fatigues with heavy weapons met them on the road, he realised that Castiel didn't have the gun either.

The men didn't say anything to them. One of them barked something into a mic attached to his shoulder, but Sam couldn't make out the words. Once there was a fresh pair of handcuffs fastened around his wrists, he was in too much pain to worry about whatever Lord Lucifer was going to do to him for this. He just hoped he would be killed rather than languish in the underground cells for years.

They separated him from Castiel, and as he was frogmarched along between the burly guards, Sam wondered again if it had all been a ploy. The punishment for desertion was death, at least according to most of the religions Bobby had taught him. The older man used to rage at the front of the classroom, shaking his fist as he listed out crimes. Each and every one of them punishable only by death.

Sam was expecting a long walk back to the compound, and he was surprised when they rounded another bend in the road and stopped at an encampment filled with men in fatigues, vans with tinted windows, and more heavy artillery than an NRA meet up in Texas.

The escorts stopped and when Sam got a good look at the man his guards had stopped in front of, he realised it wasn't a man at all. In fact, now as his fear and adrenaline died down, he noticed name patches on the fatigues, and the weapons didn't have their information filed off.

"We've got them at the base camp sir." The woman said into her lapel mic, and Sam looked over his shoulder to see if Castiel was still there. The guard was being searched and there were several knives on the ground next to him, along with one of the little snub-nosed pistols Sam had never been allowed to shoot.

"Bring them in." The mic said, crackling back to life.

He got patted down too. Not as thoroughly as Castiel, more of a perfunctory stroke over his arms and legs, not that there was anything to find. No hidden knives or tiny guns for him.

Only one of the men brought them through the camp and up to the side of a van. When they got close enough for Sam to read the license plate, he realised what was going on and wondered if he should say anything in front of Castiel. Their escort knocked and Special Agent Victor Hendrickson opened the door. His suit was covered with a tactical vest and windbreaker, both of which proclaimed to the world, _FBI_.

"Sam." Agent Hendrickson had their handcuffs removed and showed them into the back of the van and asked the agent outside to send over someone named Bela. "And you must be our inside man." He clapped Castiel on the back and offered them both bottles of water.

"Did you hear?" Sam asked, waving a hand over his body, trying to imply the wires he'd been hiding.

"Yep. The warrants went through, the ACLU is backing us due to various human rights violations. The Wayward Sons are going down." Hendrickson grinned. "I'm a little surprised you made it out alive. And without your brother."

Sam looked at his hands. They were starting to hurt again, the bruises deepening as blood flow returned to his extremities and swelling enough to make his shirt sleeves uncomfortably tight around the wrist.

"Dean Winchester will not leave." Castiel said, his voice was deep and had that distant tone about it again. "He loves our fathers and will not betray them."

Hendrickson shrugged. "Not my area of expertise. Are you the one who sent this?" He gave Castiel the note in a sealed plastic bag. When the former compound guard nodded, Hendrickson got that shit eating grin back. "Excellent. We'll need your testimony and any information you can provide. My men are heading in soon and weapons, numbers, troop positions, whatever you can give us would help."

Castiel nodded. "Do you have paper?" He reached into his pocket, "And a pen? Your men took all of my things."

As Castiel bent over his new task, ink already filling the pages, Sam found himself the subject of Hendrickson's scrutiny. "Thank you, Sam. All of these people will get another chance. And if they had mobilised and carried out whatever insane Armageddon plan, who knows how many lives would have been lost?"

Sam nodded and something inside his face shifted painfully. "Can I go home?" He asked, his voice small and quiet. He didn't really have hope for his brother and father, Ash maybe. But he could see everyone later, after he saw a doctor and got some sleep.

"Soon." Hendrickson opened the back of the van. "We'll get you something to eat and someone to talk to." He stepped out and Sam followed him. "Speak of the devil! Bela, you're just the woman I wanted to see."

A young woman in a fancy fed suit with an _FBI_ windbreaker nodded. She didn't smile and her arms were crossed over her chest. Sam immediately didn't like her. "Is this the guy you sent back in?"

"Sam Winchester, this is Dr. Talbot. She's a specialist in deprogramming." Hendrickson put one foot in the van. "You know where I'll be."

Once he was gone, Dr. Talbot's face softened the tiniest bit. "Come with me, I'll get you checked out and I think there's still some hot coffee somewhere."

Sam followed her, always staying a step behind as they walked through the tents and vans that made up the camp. Things were still being unloaded and he saw satellite pictures of the camp. It was odd to see blobs of himself and Castiel walking around on the grounds.

"Just take a seat." Dr. Talbot swept into a tent and returned with a large first aid kit. She set it on the table next to him and took a seat. "Anywhere else besides your nose and wrists hurt?"

"Yeah." Sam lifted his hands to undo the buttons on his shirt, but his fingers felt like overcooked spaghetti and he fumbled around on the fabric, unable to tell if he was even touching the button.

"Don't bother." She pulled a pair of scissors from the kit. "Do you love this shirt?"

"Not even mine." Sam held still as she cut it off over him and winced as her fingers brushed his battered body.

"Ouch." Dr. Talbot said in sympathy as she pulled on a pair of gloves. "I'm going to have to touch you. Tell me if anything hurts more than you'd expect it to."

Sam bit his lip and swallowed his pain as she probed as his ribs and felt over his kidneys and spleen. Everything hurt, some of his ribs bothered than others. He mentioned it, but nothing was terrible. At least not internal bleeding, dying terrible.

"Okay, I've got some stuff for you here." She rinsed his arms and wrists with some sort of antiseptic solution and wrapped bandages lightly around them. "Which arm hurts less?"

Sam offered his left even though they both hurt. He looked away when she started the IV, he still felt the stab of pain when she advanced the catheter, and whatever she hooked into the port was cool inside his arm.

"That'll help with the pain. And this is for infection." She hung a second bag of fluid from a collapsible IV stand. "You'll need to see a specialist to set your nose. It looks like it settled wrong." She put her thumbs on either side of his nose and he flinched away from her.

"It can wait." Sam said, the pain was starting to dull and it made him want to avoid additional discomfort.

"Sure." Dr. Talbot sat down and closed the kit back up. "So, Sam, what was it like to go back inside?"

He looked at his feet. If his shoulders weren't so tight, he would have shrugged, but it would hurt. "I don't know. . .different."

"Sometimes it's better when a place isn't what we remember." She said and Sam sighed.

"Is there any way I can get out of this?" He asked. "I did the whole therapy thing at school when I first got out."

Now she was back to scowling, the relaxed neutral expression gone. "I'm going to be directing the care of those inside and working one-on-one with some of them. Even if you don't benefit, which I highly doubt, any insight I glean from you can help your fellows recover."

Sam sighed again. "Let's get this over with."

\--  
 _For Life_

It took him six months to get back to normal. Stanford gave him a semester off, and Sam talked to Bela over the phone a couple of times. She referred him to a plastic surgeon but his nose still looked off.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Jess rubbed his arm and squeezed his hand, her thumb stroking over the deep groove scarred into his arm from his night in handcuffs.

"I wanted to do this a long time ago." Sam reminded her.

"We're ready for you now." Dr. Talbot opened the door and brought him into her office. "Remember, he's had six months to get this far. We are starting to see some improvement. Sam, at this point, that's a good sign."

Sam bit his lip and nodded. "I'm ready."

"All right, just stay calm. If you need to leave, do it right away. He'll just get upset if you can't stay calm." She opened the second door in her office and Sam followed her down a long white corridor. They stopped outside the last room and she opened it with her swipe card.

Sam stepped inside. "Hey Dean."

His brother was sitting upright on the bed, staring at the wall. He didn't looked when Sam came closer. He looked right through him when Sam stepped into his line of sight.

"Dean, they finally let me come visit you."

Dean blinked and met his eyes for a second. He resumed his stare into nothingness, but Sam recognized the tears sitting on the surface of his brother's eyes.

"My name is Dean Winchester. You are holding me unlawfully and against my will."

Dr. Talbot sighed and tapped Sam on the shoulder to gesture him out of the room. "I'm sorry Sam. I thought there had been some real progress."

"He's talking now. That's a good sign, right?"

Dr. Talbot shook her head. "He never says anything else."


End file.
